Sibling Rivalry
by Shortscribbling
Summary: This is a rather different approach on fanfiction, you'll have to bare with it: I hope you enjoy it, and I apologise if installments appear rather slowly. A twist to the wizarding war with an OC. Rated M for Strong Language, Violence and Adult Themes.
1. Beginnings

Okay, so hi! This is my first attempt at fanfiction and I've had this idea in my head for rather a long time. I hope you like it and you'll have to bear with it for the moment because it may not seem like fanfiction to you **_yet_!** Hope you enjoy it and please** review**  


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"Oh come on, exams are over now, it's not like you need to rush home or anything is it?" I roll my eyes at Tim.

We're standing next to the parting point of our walk back from school. It's out in the open, in plain view; no hiding places. Not that there needs to be any hiding places or anything…but out in an open field, well, anything could be watching you. I quickly skim my eyes over my surroundings.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice suddenly dropping the playful tone. I look back at him and force a smile onto my face.

"Nothing, nothing at all," I murmur non-convincingly. I look over my shoulder again. Nothing.

"You sure, because you sure look skittish."

"I do not look skittish…"

"_Boo!"_ he yells. I scream and clutch at my thumping heart.

"_Don't do that to me!" _I smack his arm and stalk off in the opposite direction. He grabs my arm.

"Oh come on, I was just messing with you, you take things way to seriously…"

"_Get off of me Timothy!" _I push his arm off of me and start to run towards home. He pursues me, continuing to shout apologies mingled with insults. I reach my door and slam it shut just as he turns the corner into my drive. I lock the oak door, bolting the lock at the bottom and top. He starts to thump on the other side of the door.

"_Oh for fucks sake open the door!"_

"No Timothy, go away."

"_Open the door!"_

"Go away."

"_Open the door!"_

"_FOR FUCKS SAKE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" _Silence. I drop my bag on the floor and fling my keys across the room. I glance at the hall mirror opposite the door. My dark hair is windswept from my escapade and my cheeks are flushed. I wipe away a tear from my glassy eyes before stomping up the stairs.

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I collapse on my bed and sink into the soft mattress. My head hurts. Everything hurts in fact. Why can't he just understand? But then again…what is there to comprehend? I don't know… I just don't. My eyes fall on the book on my bedside table and I grab it. It's 'Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows'. This must be the fifth time I'm reading it; I practically know it back to front. I pick it up and start to thumb for my favourite chapter, 'The Prince's Tale.' I start to read it, my brain sinking into a stupor. _THUMP._ I drop the novel and my head snaps to the window. Nothing. I take a deep breath, slide off the bed and tiptoe to the sheet of glass. I peer down into the dimly lit street. Nothing. Just my overactive imagination. I turn around and unbutton my jacket tossing it onto the wicker armchair by my bookcase. _THUMP._ I spin round and run back over to the window. Nothing….again. Did I really just imagine that? I must have…yes definitely. Or maybe it's just a dog or large cat or something. It must have fallen into a dustbin or knocked a dustbin over or…_POP._ The streetlight goes out and an overwhelming wave of fear falls on me. I swing the curtains closed violently, but not before I see the cloaked figure standing on the road.

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"_Hey, this is Emmie Stanton. Please leave a message after the beep, thanks. Oh and also if this is Tim, don't bother wasting my time because I don't care. Thanks!"_

"Yeah, hey it's me…Tim…I know you don't want to talk to me, but can you just pick up or phone me back…or something, thanks, bye."

I delete the message straight away and turn up the volume on the television again. Nothing particularly on at all. I don't want to watch TV either, but I'm getting bored of sitting around doing nothing. My phone rings again, I glance at the caller ID. Dad. I sigh and press mute on the TV before answering it.

"Hey Dad, how are you?"

"I'm fine Ems, how are you?"

"Alright I guess."

"Alright you guess? I'll just take that as a no."

"Thanks Dad." Awkward silence. "So why were you calling?"

"Oh yeah…I'm going to be in Australia for another month, do you think you can cope?" No. No I can't cope.

"Yeah, sure I'll be fine, you just enjoy yourself."

"I will sweetie and I'll probably call, you later about visiting okay?"

"Um okay…"

"You don't want to come?"

No I don't want to go to bloody Australia, I want you to come home and look after me like you're meant to.

"Um, I don't know really, I've got a lot on here…"

"That's fine then and as I said I'll call you again at some point this week. Have you got enough food in the house?"

"Dad, it's not like I don't know how to use a credit card is it?"

"No, I guess not, well bye then and enjoy yourself."

"I will and I love you Dad."

"Alright then bye."

No 'I love you'. Bloody father. I drop the phone onto the sofa and stretch my limbs. My stomach grumbles and I realise how hungry I am having not had dinner. I open the fridge and check the use by dates of everything. By the end of the routine check there is only a block of cheddar remaining. Oh great. Looks like a late night shopping trip is in order. I dump the rancid food in a bin liner and grab my bag off of the floor. The door keys are a bit harder to find. I spend five minutes scrambling down on my knees in the semi dark looking for them. I can't find then at all and the flickering light is doing no good. I really must get that bulb changed. I give up my search and instead head towards the spare keys cabinet. The light in the utility room is nonexistent so I use the torch off the side to help me rummage through the cupboard. I glimpse the key and grab it rejoicing at my unexpected discovery. I turn on my heel leaving the cabinet wide open and I slide into some boots. Right, keys? Check. Phone? I grab it off of the sofa and slide it into my bag. Check. Cash? Check. Okay then, off you go Emmie. I yank the door open and grab the bag of spoiled food just before slamming the door.

The streets are fairly quiet and the sound of the dustbin being closed echoes off of the opposite house. I start walking, heading to the off-licence about half a mile away. The bushes and trees cast large shadows on the street in front of me and I unconsciously avoid stepping on them. After about ten minutes of walking I hear soft footsteps. I freeze. Nothing. God, not this again. I do not need to be paranoid right now in the middle of the night. I force myself to start walking again, but my pace increases. The shuffling gets louder so I speed up and before I know it I'm running. I turn left taking a shortcut through the field. Openness. An open field. Yes, that's it, head towards the open. I do, I run as fast as my muscles let me. They scream in protest but I don't stop. I must reach the field and then I trip over my feet, flying forward. My handbag is thrown off of my arm and I feel my knees and elbows graze as I try to break my fall. I grit my teeth as I feel concrete tear into my skin. I can't stop now. No, I can't. I have to keep going. Shit, that really does hurt. I stumble as I lift myself back onto my feet, but I manage to grab my bag. I hear a snarl behind me and whirl round. No one. My head pounds, so does my heart. I strain my eyes into the darkness attempting to see someone, something. Several minutes pass but I continue to stare out into the inky darkness. My eyelids start to droop. My knees, they really do hurt. I should probably clear them up or something like that…I brush my hair behind me ears. I'm beyond caring now. Fear is out of my mind. I feel eyes burning into my back, but I brush off the sensation and stumble towards home and my bed.

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**REVIEW! **(It would be much appreciated)


	2. Standings

Well hello again, this is the second chapter (obviously). This takes place a couple of weeks later to the previous. I hope you enjoy and as before reviews would be really useful.  


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"You are such a bitch."

"Thank you Tim, your contributions are as helpful as ever. Now piss off."

"I was just saying that you should take care of yourself more, you really do look like shit at the moment." I turn to slap him but he grabs my arm. He stares at me, eyes burning into mine. I yank my hand away.

"Get off of me." I start walking again and it takes me a minute to realise he's not following me. I turn slowly on the spot to face him, my eyebrow raised. He's looking at me strangely.

"What's the matter with you at the moment?" he questions. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. I glance over my shoulder quickly. No one there.

"Nothing's the matter," I whisper.

"Liar." I draw in a deep breath and release it slowly. I feel eyes bearing into me, but they're not Tim's. Shit.

"C-can we keep moving please?" I stutter. He shakes his head at me.

"We are _not_ moving until you tell me what's wrong."

"_Nothing is wrong!"_ I hiss.

"Of course something is wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be whispering. I have noticed you know, for about a month you've been looking worse and worse every day. You're always glancing behind you as well. What are you scared of?"

"_I'm not scared of anything, but can we keep moving please!" _My voice breaks at the last word. He takes one look at me and starts walking again, leading me in the direction of his house. I shuffle along behind him, turning my head slightly every couple of minutes.

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He opens the door slowly and I stand on his doorstep with my back to him, trying to peer into the woods to the left of his house. I notice a figure and step backwards quickly, tripping over Tim. I grab out for something to hold onto and attach myself to his arm. He rolls his eyes at me and drags me inside his house. I stand facing the door for several moments trying to gather my thoughts. What is it? Who is it? I don't want to admit what my suspicions are…I just have an overactive imagination is all. Yes. That's it; I was imagining it…again.

"Are you going to come through or not then?" I shake myself back to reality and spin round, grabbing energy from deep inside of me.

"Sure, sorry…I was, I mean I'm just tired." I murmur. He raises his eyebrow at me.

"Yeah I noticed that."

I walk toward his kitchen, passing a large mirror on my right. I ignore it. He's making some tea in a pot, an expression of complete concentration on his face. I watch him carefully. It's not often I see this serious side of him. Something flickers across his blue eyes and I lean in closer trying to identify what it is, but it's gone as soon as it came. I sigh. He looks up at the quiet sound with a confused expression upon his face.

"What's wrong," he asks. I don't know, I really don't know.

"Nothing. What're you making?" I ask curiously.

"Camomile tea." He hands it out to me and I reluctantly take it. He watches me carefully until I feel pressured into lifting it to my lips. The liquid burns my lower lip and I stifle a yelp.

"Mmmm…it's really nice," I lie. His face lights up at this and he turns back to the teapot. I spit the tea back into the cup quickly and he turns round just in time to see me with a fake smile plastered on my face. He's holding a cup too now.

"You know my mum brought it back from India when she was away last year. It really helps for nerves and stuff like that apparently. Can't say I've ever used it though, but I'm glad you like it. You can have some of it if you want; we don't really use it that much." I decline the offer quickly. He shrugs in reply.

We go through to sit in the lounge and I notice the number of books splayed across the floor. I reach over and pick up the nearest one. The title's in Latin and I don't recognise the cover. I throw a questioning look at him.

"Oh yeah that's one of mum's books," he says, "She does a lot of reading. Latin is her new hobby. No idea what that book is though…" He looks off into the distance and I see the loneliness in his eyes again. His mother does a lot of travelling, he's never told me exactly what she does. His father on the other hand is usually at home but Tim and he have never got on at all. All fists and no talking. My eyes flick to the window and yet again I find my thoughts wandering towards that unwanted notion that has been lying in the back of my head for what has now been weeks. It's not formed completely yet though…I wish I could tell what it is…or who.

I turn my attention back to Tim. His eyes are staring into nothingness, he's not quite here; his train of thoughts are flying above our heads. He seems so fragile, sitting here with his mug in his hands, holding it to him like a child. Cradling it. I glance at the time. Five o' clock.

Reluctantly I interrupt his trance.

"Uh Tim, I need to go." Slowly he awakens and he turns his head to me.

"Oh." Silence.

"Yeah it's just it's gonna get dark soon and…well you know…"

He looks at me confused.

"It's the summer. It doesn't get dark until about eight."

I swallow.

"Yeah well still, you never know…"

He rolls his eyes again.

"Ems, if you don't want to stay just say so and don't insult me with an unbelievable lie."

I look at him in disbelief my eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

"Err, excuse me, but who practically dragged me into their house?"

"I didn't _drag_ you as you put it. You decided to follow me back. There was no force involved," he answers with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

God, I hate him when he's like this.

"…and anyway," he continues, "You're just avoiding the point of this cosy chat."

"What chat? Because I didn't really notice that there was a flowing conversation going on, did you?"

He rolls his eyes.

"I brought you here," he gestures around the room, "Because you look like hell and you need to talk about it."

Oh great, this again.

"I don't _need_ to talk about anything with you. You can't force me to talk about it," I whisper indignantly.

"Oh, so you're finally admitting something's wrong then. Well I guess that's a start…"

I let out a sound of frustration at my stupidity.

"That's _not_ what I meant to say," I hiss, "You're just trying to trick me here so that you can hear what you _want_ to hear; even if it's not true."

I stand up, slam the mug down on the coffee table and stalk over to the door. He sighs and gently places his mug down. I yank the front door open and march down his driveway. I hear him murmur my name behind me but I keep going. When I'm out of sight, I lash out at a stone on the ground because of sheer exasperation. Shit. Oh great, instead of venting it I end up with a stubbed toe. That is absolutely fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. I let out a yell and slam my hand into a lamp post.

"_I hate this fucking life!"_ I shriek at the top of my lungs. There is no answering call and I lean my head against the post breathing heavily. Why can't I just tell Tim, at least I'd be able to get some of this fear and anger and everything I don't understand off of my chest. Then I hear something. I freeze and strain my ears. Someone's in the bushes about five metres to my left. I try to peek through my dark hair, but my peripheral vision isn't that great. I don't know whether to move or not. Shit. What if it is...what if it's what I think it is…no, stop it. It's Tim. He's just messing about. Then why don't you just turn around and yell at him? Because…because it's not Tim. Oh shit, shit, shit. What am I going to do?

There's more rustling. If I don't move soon then they're going to get suspicious and then they'll make their move. Who's going to 'make their move'? Your bloody stalker that's who. My heart rate increases and I feel my lungs start to shrink causing my breathing to get heavier. Shit, I'm going to start hyperventilating in a few seconds. I have to do something. I snap my head around.


	3. Glimpse

**A/N: **Apologies that this chapter is so short, I wanted to create a more dramatic impact and didn't exactly want to continue after the ending to this chapter. Apologies.

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I shriek at the sight of the deer. Why the hell is there a _bloody deer_ in the middle of an urban area? My cry sends it scarpering in the opposite direction and I breathe a sigh of relief. God, that scared the living daylights out of me. I pull myself together and rub at my sore eyes. The direction the deer fled in is across the field. Strange that it should head away from the woods. He must be incredibly confused…I mean she. I think it was a doe. It was beautiful anyhow. I start walking home again, slightly more relaxed than before.

I step out of the shower cubicle and slowly dry my feet rubbing between the toes with great care. I slip into a pair of lace knickers and move the towel up towards my dripping hair. I examine myself in the mirror in front of me. My face is flushed from the hot water and black makeup streaks are under my eyes. I have a real issue with remembering to take off my makeup before I get into the shower. This is the result; I look like the living dead (minus the colour in my cheeks). I let the towel drop to the tiled floor and grab my nighty from off the side. I slide into the pink slip and coil my hair over my left shoulder. I shuffle out of the bathroom door and walk across the landing towards my bedroom. I rub my eyes with the palm of my hand and slump down on my bed my head hitting the wall harder than I expected. Ouch, that really did quite hurt. I close my eyes and start to drift away. A creak alerts me to the intruder. I don't move. My heart starts to beat, going crazy. I hear a footstep coming towards me, but I refuse to move. I try desperately to slow down my breathing to a steady pace. I'm scared. Why the hell is there someone in my house? _How the hell is someone in my room? _My brain moves like clockwork: it can't be dad because he's in bloody Australia…or somewhere like that. No one has a key to my house, do they? I mean I don't think so…and it's not like I leave a stupid key under the mat for a burglar to steal the crap that resides in this hell hole. Then I feel the breathing on my face. I take a sharp breath in. The air playing across my face stops, and then I hear the swish of clothing and my door closing. My eyes snap open and I practically sprint over to my door. Shit. I nearly dislocate my arm whilst yanking the door open. Shit, shit, shit. That hurt. I run as quickly down the stairs as I physically can without tripping over my feet. On the last step I hear the crack. The sound is so loud against the empty house that I slip and fall, throwing my hands out at last minute to save my face. My leg smacks into the side of a table into the hall and gouges out a considerably large portion of flesh, but that's the least of my worries. I stare at the spot by the door that was previously vacant. This time I know for sure. Severus Snape or at least Alan Rickman just apparated out of my house.

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**Reviews anyone?**


	4. Confusion

**A/N:** Well this was a tedious chapter to write, but I hope it's not as tiring to read. Hopefully the next chapter will be uploaded shortly. enjoy

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Okay, calm down. Don't panic. It's fine, absolutely fine.

_Fine? How can it be fucking fine?_

No. Stop shouting….calm down. What the _hell _have I been drinking? I'm collapsed on the floor trying to work out how the fuck I just saw a fictional character in my hallway.

_He was definitely real Emmie, there is no point beating yourself up about it. He was there._

No, no he really wasn't. I have the wildest imagination in the world, everyone tells me that. I've been told it since the day I was born. My head suddenly really hurts so I let it fall forward into my lap. The smell of blood drifts up to my nostrils and I glimpse down at the gouge in my thigh; it looks bad. I ignore it though, there's something itching in the back of my mind to be heard…what it is though, I have no idea; it's just beyond reach. I touch the wound and my fingers are immediately coated in the sticky substance. It reeks. Shit, I think I'm going to vomit. I unsteadily get to my feet using the banister on the stairs to give me balance. Okay I need some bandages or plasters or something to stop this bleeding. I limp over to the kitchen and hopefully hunt through the cupboards trying to hunt down any form of medical box. Nothing.

_What is up with you Emmie? Of all of the things you should know about this house is where the medical shit is, so why don't you?_

I give up my frantic search in the kitchen and hobble back over to the stairs. Shit. This is going to be fun. Step by agonising step I climb the steps, gritting my teeth as I put pressure on my left leg. _SHIT, that fucking hurts! _After an excruciating minute I reach the last of the 14 steps. Two sets of seven…why that should mean something, I have no idea, but I have this feeling in the back of my head that it is. Ah shite, my brain is really hurting and I can't see properly. I take a right and stumble into my Dad's room. I squint through the dark trying to find the light switch. When I finally identify it I slam my palm into it, leaving the imprint of the rectangle on my hand. I practically crawl over to the wardrobe at this point. I'm in so much pain; I feel as if it's going to implode. I heave the oak doors open and use the right door to pull myself up. I can't see a box of any sort, let alone one that looks like it might be first aid. SHIT! I almost scream out in frustration, but that would be wasting energy. There's no one to hear me. Why the hell is this happening to me? Then I spot the black box right at the back, hidden behind several trouser legs. I grab at it spilling the contents of it onto the floor next to me. That's when I collapse and whack my head against the wooden door.

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My throat is killing me when I finally awake and my head is pounding. I keep my eyes closed unwilling to bring myself back to reality. I can vaguely remember what happened, but I don't want that to become genuine. I'm happy here drifting through my thoughts, but I know that I have to open my eyes at some point. I hear birds chirping indicating that I've been unconscious throughout the night. If I listen carefully I can identify so many sounds: a clock ticking quietly…a leaking tap dripping in the bathroom next door…my breathing, my quite shallow breathing…and then an unwelcome sound of my mobile phone ringing. I groan and open my eyes. There's a stain on the ceiling – probably from dampness or something… My legs are stiff from the awkward position I've been lying in for god knows how long. I don't want to look down at myself, but I know I need to. This wouldn't have happened if my father was here…but he's not.

The stupid phone keeps on ringing…it won't leave me alone. Why can't you just leave me alone? Just leave me to sleep…

_You have to get up Emmie, you know you have to._

No I don't, go away. No one cares about me really…

_Yes they do, now get up; you've lost enough blood as it is, so pick yourself up and sort yourself out._

No, it hurts too much.

_Get up._

I did finally get up, long after the phone stopped ringing. It took me ages to move my muscles. I have a huge lump on my head from the wardrobe door. My wounded thigh on the other hand is faint. I trace the scab with my fingers. I don't believe that it could have scabbed over night; it's just not possible. I'm sitting on the bed now, staining the white sheets. I stare into thin air unsure of what has happened. Then light dancing against the wall catches my eye. I look around me for what could be reflecting the beams and my eyes fall on a stone. It's lying in a pool of my blood. The stone in question must be a ruby or the likes…it's beautiful, huge. I've never seen a stone that big. I bend down and slowly reach out to touch it. Its surface is warm from the puddle of blood it's lying in. I can't tell if it is naturally red or if the sticky substance turned it the colour it is now. I remember the black box falling onto the floor as I grabbed it. I shuffle over to the small cube. It's lined with black velvet and has the definite imprint of the ruby it contained. Reluctantly I pick up the beautiful stone and place it back in its bed. I then return the box to the back of the wardrobe. I wonder why it's there. My father isn't exactly poor, but he's not loaded either. That gem must be worth millions, or even billions. Well whatever it is, it's entrancing anyhow. So stunning… Slowly I walk over to the en-suite bathroom adjacent to my father's room. I run a bath and perch on the toilet seat while I wait for the steaming water to fill the tub. After a couple of minutes I strip off the soiled clothes and lift myself into the water. Almost immediately the water turns red. I lie there for what seems like forever with my hair swirling around me contrasting to the hue of the contents of the bath. My eyelids start to droop and I let myself fall into sweet oblivion.

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**Reviews **would be much appreciated. Tell me what you think :)


	5. Drifting

**A/N: **It appears that I have no life seeing that I have spent today only writing. Please give me feedback (even if it's negative) or any questions as I would love to know whether it is only me that actually likes this story. Thanks and enjoy the chapter.**  
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"_Shit, wake up Ems, please wake up!"_

I feel someone shaking me back into existence and I try to fight the sensation with all of my might.

"_Ems don't do this to me, please don't die on me like this…"_

Die? Who said anything about dying?

_Just ignore him, just go back to sleep Emmie._

Yes, I'll do just that. I just want to sleep.

"_EMMIE WAKE THE HELL UP!"_

My eyes snap open and I look up into Tim's watery eyes. He breathes a deep sigh of relief and then drops me. I yelp as my head smacks down on the tiled floor.

"_Ouch, what the hell was that for?"_ I hiss. My eyes are hurting a lot, so I squint back at him.

"_What was that for? What was that…? Oh my god Ems. I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!"_

"Why would you think that?" I ask him and then realise the stupidity in my question. He looks at me outraged at my query.

"Why the…why…_how can you even ask that? I come round your house and see the door wide open and shout for you and come upstairs and find blood on the floor and then…oh my fucking god, you were lying in a pool of your own blood. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT LOOKS LIKE? I THOUGHT YOU HAD FUCKING CUT YOURSELF! YOU…there was so much blood…how can I not think that you were dead? How can you…_how can you…?" He trails off and becomes silent. I hug my arms to my body, very aware that I'm naked. I have red streaks all over my body. Then something he said clicks in my head.

"Wait, you just said that the door was open?"

He glares at me. "Yeah so what?"

"Well…I never left," I catch myself, "Nothing."

After an eternity I stand up and grab a towel off of the side and wrap it protectively around my body. My feet pad on the wooded floorboards sounding strangely loud. I shut the wardrobe closed and stride off in the direction of my bedroom. Tim follows me and shuts my door. I grab some underwear from a drawer and hurriedly slip it on underneath the towel. I then start to turf through my drawers for a T-shirt and jeans.

"What happened then?"

I freeze for a brief moment before pulling the T-shirt over my damp body. He waits for me to reply and eventually I turn around to face him. What did happen? I have no idea. There's still that aspect which I don't want to think about at all; that shadow in the back of my mind.

"I…" I don't really know what to say at all. I look down at my toes, avoiding those eyes of his. "I just had a bit of an accident that's all. I hit my head and cut my leg. I'm fine now, there was just a bit of blood and I fell asleep whilst washing it off." I keep looking down at my feet looking at my toes. The nails have dried blood under them. It's disgusting. After a pregnant silence, he finally says something.

"You don't seriously think I'm going to believe that do you?"

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. No, no I didn't think you'd believe it. Who would believe it?

"It's true."

And then he loses his temper.

"_No, don't fuck with me. There was way too much blood and you fucking think I'll believe that pathetic excuse?"_

I start to sob. I don't know what to say. He won't believe me if I tell the truth, he won't. He grabs me by the shoulders and starts to shake me violently.

"_Who do you think I am? I'm not an ignorant little shit like you. My parents at least taught me not to lie. You're pathetic, pitiful."_

Shut up Tim. I don't want to talk about parents.

"_Cause you know, even though my father beats me, at least he's there for me and even looks vaguely like me. With you there's no genetic connection at all."_

I snap.

"_WHAT THE HELL TIM? How the hell is any of that relevant to this? I'll tell you the answer, IT'S NOT! You have a right nerve coming here to tell me that!"_

"_I have a nerve? At least I didn't try to lie about the fact that I was committing suicide!"_

I gape at him before shoving him away from me.

"_What the fuck? I wasn't committing suicide. I may hate my life, but I know that it's the stupidest thing anyone can ever do."_

"_Well I wouldn't put it past you and I bet your real parents are liars as well. In fact, she was probably a whore and he was some druggie."_

My eyes are swimming. What is up with him?

"What the hell Tim? Where has this come from?" I whisper.

"_Oh, so you didn't know that your 'dad' isn't actually your father? Only a stupid person couldn't see that."_

I let him continue his rant – shocked at the torrent of hurt flooding out of his mouth.

"_I just can't believe it…he loves you like his own daughter despite the fact that he just picked you up off of the street. IT'S NOT FAIR! How come he can love you, but my father doesn't? You're a FUCKING NUISANCE, but he doesn't care. He loves you…_he loves you…he…" He just breaks down in tears.

I reach out to touch his shoulder, but he lashes out. This sudden display of emotion has left me unsure. I don't want to think about what he has just said about my father…well not my father.

"I…Tim, I…I'm sorry Tim." I'm not quite sure about what I'm meant to be sorry about, but I know it's the right thing to say. Then he turns to face me and takes me in an embrace, squeezing me tightly against his chest.

"No Emmie, I'm sorry."

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It's been several days since the incident. Tim left without saying anything and he hasn't phoned since. I'm so confused about the entire thing, but what is getting me is that man; the man in my mind who won't shift. I don't know what to do at all. I've stopped sleeping. I watch TV late into the night and will maybe jolt awake in the early hours of the morning sweating a fever. I've stopped leaving the house and am now living on various tinned substances. I don't want to admit to myself that I'm terrified of the world. My 'dad' hasn't called since he announced he was staying in Australia…not that I want to face him after what Tim told me. I have no idea how I'm going to explain away the stains in his room when he comes back…if he ever comes back. My mind is constantly full of thoughts preventing me from ever relaxing. Today's main topic has been the front door. I definitely didn't leave it open…but then again that day was a complete blur…but still it's bugging me.

I heave myself off of the armchair and drift in the direction of the dining room. I stare at the cabinet in front of me for a moment and then I grab a bottle of whisky out of it. I'm so tired, I just want to sleep. I unsteadily pour some into a glass and then I take the bottle and tumbler up into my room. My thoughts start to blur after about the third glass and I have trouble keeping my eyes open. I've never really thought about resorting to alcohol, but I know that it'll let me sleep eventually and that I won't have to think.

Creak. The sound is faint in my hearing and I don't really absorb it. I pour myself another drink slopping half of it onto the carpet. As I slam the bottle down on my bedside table the glass slips from my hand onto the floor. I collapse onto my bed my head spinning. It's the weirdest sensation I've ever experienced in my sixteen years. I don't really understand what is happening. I close my eyes and breathe deeply. At some point in my vaguely conscious being a hand reached out and brushed my face, dwindling around my chin. It lasted for a moment and then my brain gave in to the tiredness.


	6. Thoughts

**A/N:** Wow, I'm on a role today, three chapters in a day (or is it four?). I love this chapter, it meant I could write a lot about Emmie's thoughts, which I love to do - I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Thanks and as per usual feedback would be really appreciated

* * *

I have surprised myself in the past month. I once said that I would never drink – that went down the drain when I became an alcoholic. That sounds so strange on my tongue now…so in many ways does the alcohol that I use to numb it. Tim comes round some days and comforts me or at least tries to make me sober. He still doesn't know or understand what happened that day, but he tries to be more careful with me – after all I am probably more fragile than the china that I break everyday. My head is constantly floating through space full of dream like ideals and fantasies that can't happen. I can neither tell what is real nor what is false. I believe that my downfall was nothing to do with the incident, but to do with my entire life…not that I can remember more than two years worth now that I think about it, but that means nothing seeing as I rarely recall anything.

Last night someone was in my room (I think). There is no certainty in this statement seeing as I have no proof and I had also drunk several glasses of Limoncello. I must have drunk about three quarters of the alcohol cabinet by now – my lovely father is going to be shocked when he returns…not that he is my father and not that he has bothered to call in over a month. So much for staying in Australia for one month more – he's just a liar.

The wound on my thigh has scabbed over as a constant reminder of the shadow that I've tried to block out. However, sometimes I am unsure as to why I do want to block out my realisation seeing as it has saved me from many lies.

I need to stop thinking now. I started drinking to stop having to use my brain, but now that I contemplate on it, I have begun to think more. Fresh air, that's what I need. I stand up from my chair and slowly make my way over to the hallway. Today is a good day; I've barely drunk anything at all. I shrug on a leather jacket and grab a beer out of the fridge. I then slip on my shoes – the nearest pair. The shoes in question happen to be a pair of heels but I can't care less. After a brief struggle with the front door and its many locks the fresh air pours into my lungs. I stand there in the doorway and just breathe. It's been a long time since I've stopped moving, stopped drinking. I close my eyes and listen to the world, to the traffic, to the birds, to the arguing next door, to the wind, to the rustling of leaves, to the beauty of the world which I have been hiding from. I open my eyes and look at the burdened clouds in the air and the rays of sunlight trying to pierce through their blanket of grey. I take a step forward and the wind caresses my hair, soothing my mind. I sigh and after several seconds take another step and start my journey. The world hasn't really changed at all. There's still the man down the road who feeds the squirrels in the tree and there's still the dog near the traffic lights that barks his house down. I find myself walking the route towards my school which I used to do five days a week about two months ago. Wow…it's August now… how time passes.

Before I realise it I'm standing at the edge of the field. It's still an empty stretch of green. It's still in many ways a sanctuary despite the fact that there's nowhere to hide. Maybe that's the important fact. A place like it is honest and there can be no lies at all. I hesitate, teetering on the border between the pavement and the grass. Am I really prepared to become honest? I don't really know the answer to that question, but I guess in many ways that honesty is the best policy. It can hurt, but it leads towards the healing of pain in the end. So I take that step forward and drop my right foot down onto the springy grass. I don't feel anything, but I don't expect to either – as per usual I am thinking too much. Then the heavens release their burden, starting with a few drops but it's not long before I am soaked through. It makes me laugh and I have no idea why. I push my drenched hair over my shoulder and out of my face and then without realising why I start to run towards the middle of the field. I feel amazing in so many ways. I just drop the beer bottle and spin round in a circle almost tripping over my own feet. I close my eyes and face the sky and the rain pelts down almost painful. In so many ways I couldn't care less though. I feel absolutely fantastic. I can't even explain the emotions that are pouring through my head, but they still escape out of my mouth in incomprehensible phrases.

After about five minutes I become dizzy and collapse on the waterlogged ground. I am starting to get cold, but I couldn't care less. I am free and it feels amazing. I don't need to think at all. My gaze falls on the woods bordering the newly formed swamp and I heave myself up and run through the torrent for the shelter of the trees. I shrug off the jacket when I reach the trees and dump it at the roots of an oak. My breathing is heavy and it takes me several minutes to get back my breath. All I can hear is the rain hitting on any object that is stupid enough to get in its path. I lean against the oak tree and close my eyes breathing in the enhanced smells of the forest. It's been such a long time since I've smelt something natural. I wipe my blackened hair out of my face again before walking off in the direction of the heart of the wood trailing my fingers over branches. Every few steps stray raindrops hits my shoulder or head, but as I get further into the forest it happens less and less. Eventually I collapse at the base of the tree and let my exhaustion take over me.

* * *

I wake wet and cold, but it doesn't put a damper on my mood. It's the first time in what seems like forever that I've fallen asleep without the help of alcohol. I lie there listening to the rainfall. I have no idea how long I've been asleep – for all I care it could be days. I hear a twig snap but it doesn't click in my brain. I don't need to think. I can be free from thinking for once; I can just live. But I can't ignore that I am starting to freeze to death and it is never a good idea to tempt fate. Not that I really believe in fate. I rub my shoulders trying to bring some warmth into them, it doesn't do much but at least it's comforting. It's quite dark now. I have no idea what time it is as the trees mask quite a lot of light themselves, but I reckon it must be about dusk. Maybe I should think about getting back now – if Tim pops by he might get worried…not that I care _that_ much about him, but still. I stand up and start to make my way home.

Half an hour later and I have no idea where I am. Shit. I swear that I retraced my tracks but then again… I look at my surroundings but don't recognise anything.

_And why should you recognise anything Emmie? After all you are just in a forest and what are forests made of? Trees. And do trees really ever look any different?_

Yes, trees can look different…just not in this situation. Well this is just brilliant isn't it?

_Well you did bring it upon yourself with your little stunt._

"_SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP!" _At the sound of my voice several birds roosting in a nearby tree take flight, shrieking as they disappear. I catch myself. I didn't really mean to say that out loud, yet alone shout. Then I feel that age old sensation and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Shit. I turn on my heel and start running back the way I came from. I need to get out of here now. I disturb the forest's life as I dash through the greenery. Then my foot bends under me and I stumble and land awkwardly on my left foot. _FUCK!_ My foot…it, ah shit, shit, shit. Then I hear the footsteps approaching me. This is not good. I try to drag my foot from underneath me but it stays put and just for good measure shoots a surge of pain up my leg. It takes all of my will to prevent me from screaming. I have to stay quiet or he'll find me. Oh god. There's no way I can run now. I try to slow my breathing, but I start to sob hysterically instead. I have to stop crying, but my brain has gone on auto-pilot. It just hurts so much, worse than when I gouged my thigh. I have to get out of here now, why did I even leave the safety of my house?

_Because you're stupid that's why. You're stupid like Tim told you. You're stupid to believe in yourself – you can't be trusted to do anything._

Yes, I am stupid to believe things; least of all that I have any hope of escape. The footsteps stop.  


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**A/N: **And the real action finally begins! Tell me what you think


	7. Conflict

**A/N: **My longest chapter so far *smiles to self*. This has been a difficult one to write, I hope it dooesn't disappoint because I tried really hard, so without further ado chapter 7 :)

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Time seems to freeze as I sit there cradling my body. I'm sobbing gently and unsure exactly of what is happening or why I am even in this situation in the first place. I don't want to gaze at my shadow. I'm scared, so unbelievably afraid. Somewhere in the back of my mind there was a voice that told me that I was imagining the follower and now that comfort has fled. I know that eventually I have to look up, but I'd rather it be a last minute thing. I close my eyes and try to stop my tears from flowing.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" The drawl shocks me and time starts moving again. My eyes snap upwards and I look up into the cold grey orbs that are staring intently at me. I'm fixated on those spheres. There's something about them that is captivating. Then he takes a step closer and I immediately try to shuffle backwards.

_Don't get yourself in a corner Emmie, it's the stupidest thing you can do._

"A pretty young girl like you all – ah – alone in the woods. That's not very sensible is it?" he murmurs softly.

He stares at me looking me straight in the eye. I break the gaze and look slightly to his right. I don't want to admit this is happening, but for once in the past month I am sober. He doesn't stop looking at me though; I can feel his piercing gaze penetrating my mind.

No don't think that. He can't look in your mind, he's just some crazy guy who…

_Who looks like Lucius fucking Malfoy, yeah, that's realistic isn't it?_

This can't be happening at all. They don't exist; neither of them should.

He takes another step towards me and I start to cower. Those eyes are terrifying. They burn when all I can see is coldness. Another slow deliberate step. That's when I choose the moment to run. I throw all of my weight onto my right foot and fling myself forward. _SHIT! _It hurts so _fucking_ much, but I know that I have to get out of here right now. But before I've taken two steps a hand has grabbed my arm yanking it almost out of its socket. I scream. The pain is excruciating. I can actually feel the hand bruising my arm and shit, shit, oh my god, this hurts so much.

"You think this hurts?" a cold voice whispers in my ear, "You have felt nothing."

"_You bastard! Let me go you…" _Unbelievably the hand tightens even more until I can barely feel my arm. My head starts to spin and I can't hear myself screaming anymore. Just when I feel like I'm going to lose conscious the grip loosens and he spins me around to face him. Those eyes are terrifying, there's so much anger in them.

"You call _me_ a bastard?" he hisses. Then he slaps me around the face which causes a fresh round of salty tears to stream down my face. These however burn over the graze left on my cheek. My leg is still aching but it is nothing in comparison to these new injuries.

"What do you want with me?" I whisper. I don't understand why he's here at all. This feels too real to be a dream.

"I have no need for you at all," he murmurs. I try to escape but his grip increases again.

"In fact," he hisses, his voice dangerously low, "What makes you think that you even have a reason to live?" Then he throws me backwards and I slam into a tree _Shit!_

"_GET THE HELL OFF OF ME!" _I smack my right fist into his face and his head swings to the left; his blond hair whips across too. I lean against the tree breathing heavily staring at him, unsure of what I should do. My mind is vacant for once in my life. I just don't know what is happening at all. What the hell is real and what isn't? It can't be this.

"You little…_bitch!_" Then before I have time to react he smacks me across the face again and throws me on the floor. _Shit, shit._ SLAM. _Fuck… _

"Please, p-please…" I beg, "Please…I, I didn't mean to, I really didn't…" He glares at me coldly and then reaches inside his robed pocket.

_Stop panicking Emmie, he doesn't exist. He's just a fictional character. This is just your imagination._

He pulls out a long thin stick and points it at me, his eyes aflame.

Yes. Yes, you're right, he doesn't exist. He _can't_ exist. So he can just…

"_Fuck off!"_ I scream, _"You don't even fucking exist you arsehole!"_ He doesn't react to my statement at all, but flicks what I now know to be a wand.

"Crucio."

_FUCK! I…this hurts…shit…ice…fire…knives…pain…please, I…can't…my face…my…fuck…my lungs…I can't…breathe…stab…cut…burns…KILL ME NOW!_

I'm sprawled face down on the floor using my arms to prop myself up. My lungs are gulping as much air down as they possibly can. That…oh my god, that hurt _so unbelievably _much. After several seconds of trying to get my breath back I glance up at the towering figure. He isn't the shadow, not my shadow, but that doesn't mean that he isn't terrifying.

"Who _are_ you?" I whisper. He smirks at me.

"Who I am shouldn't make a difference to…you. You are nothing, that's all you need to know."

I gape at him, clutching my legs to my chest unable to comprehend what he's saying. I this isn't happening, it can't be…it just can't.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that Emmie. You can either accept what's happening or sit there in denial and let him hurt you. Which is it to be?_

Oh god, I think I'm going to regret this. I take several deep breaths, ignoring his explanation of why I'm so weak and don't deserve to exist. Here we go then…

"Does Voldemort know you're here?" I whisper. He stops talking.

"Ah – so the worthless aren't completely ignorant then," he sneers.

I glare at this statement, but don't talk back; I don't want to risk another taster of pain.

"But as we happen to have encountered this subject, it gives me great pleasure to inform you that The Dark Lord's business isn't a matter of yours mudblood," he continues icily.

"Yeah well you're just a prejudiced snob who is so full of himself. From my viewpoint you're just as bad as the people you discriminate against with your traitorous attitude and superiority complex. Now fuck off!"

I gasp as a sharp pain seers across my cheek. Automatically I reach up to my face and regret it as I feel sticky blood dripping down my jaw.

"Tsk, language Miss – ah – _Stanton_," he sneers, almost laughing at some personal joke.

_FUCK OFF YOU ARSEHOLE!_ It takes all my self control to stop from screaming at him from both frustration and pain. Why can he just be so calm?

_Because he has a wand, that's why._

Oh great well this is the most fantastic situation I could be in then.

_Just play along Emmie._

I grasp in the back of my mind for my vast knowledge of the Harry Potter Series. I avoid looking at him again and completely ignore him. Okay, so the Dark Lord is still alive. That's not good. When did Lucius Malfoy first appear? It was the second book I think and he gave Ginny the horcrux, but didn't know what it was.

_So?_

So…um…well I don't know do I? I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this.

_Shit!_ I clutch at my left arm as I feel it sliced through. I whimper at this new act of violence and glare with all my might at him. He however seems barely bothered by the situation.

"I feel a duty to remind you that ignoring your superiors is an act of ignorance and pure foolishness."

I grit my teeth.

"I hate you," I spit.

He looks at me with a curious expression on his face.

"You don't know hate at all."

I glower at him, the rage in me building. I know that I need to calm down, but I can't. I'm confused and hurt and I just…I just want to go back to my drunken stupor. I close my eyes and let myself float away as I always did when my parents argued… My eyes snap open. Where did that memory just come from? I've never known my mother; she died when I was born…

"Get up."

The thoughts gone. I glance up at my captor, hating him more. I know that that was an important fact I needed to know.

"Leave me alone," I whisper. I'm starting to feel the cold again, my toes are numb and I know that walking or even standing up isn't going to happen.

"Crucio."

_Blinding white…pain, shit, shit, knives, drowning, fire, flames…piercing stakes…it burns…ice…blood…my entire being exploding…stab…I…leave me…let me just…my body…pain…PLEASE!_

The pain stops and I regain control of my body to find I'm twisted into a position I never knew that was actually possible. Tears continue to stream down my face.

"_YOU ARSEHOLE, HOW DO YOU EVEN EXPECT ME TO GET UP NOW! YOU'RE SO STUPID!"_

_Ice…stab...AGONY…THIS IS AGNOY…hundreds of knives stabbing into my lungs…torture…I…my brain…oh god…I can't breathe…oxygen…I need…please…I beg…this…slice…whip…pain…LET ME DIE!_

I'm sprawled on my back this time. I can feel blood pouring down my face and I'm horrified to find the blood under my nails from where I've clawed the skin off of my face. I look up at him repulsed by what he has made me do.

"You wish to contribute?" he smirks. I open my mouth to throw more abuse at him but quickly shut it. I won't let him have the satisfaction.

"No," I whisper instead.

Where is everyone? Why has no one heard anything? Why am I here alone? Where is he when I actually need someone?

He reaches into his pocket and removes a fog watch that looks like it's made out of solid gold or something valuable. Oh I'm so sorry to be keeping you off of your most important schedule you bastard. He flicks the watch back into an inside pocket and points his wand back at me.

"Come here now."

I stay put.

He rolls his eyes, "I have no time to deal with hour childish notions."

_Fuck off!_

He strolls over and yanks me to my feet. Shit, my leg. I would have fallen straight to the muddy ground again if it hadn't been for his strong hold. As it is the muscles in my arm are straining to support my weight. I end up leaning against him for support. I can feel his muscles digging into my back. It repulses me that I'm this close to this…man.

_He's not a man._

"Give me your hand," he says coldly.

"Fuck off."

I can imagine him rolling his eyes or raising an eyebrow. It's just like his character. I can't believe I used to actually be slightly attracted to him in the films. It appals me.

"Do not make me force you to."

I would rather you did you bastard.

"Give me your hand, I am losing patience."

Give me my life back.

"I am asking you one last time. _Give me your hand Mudblood."_

A burst of energy rushes out of the woods and spins past me. I fall to my knees and then keel over sideways. I hear a snarl but see nothing but white light. I know I have to get out of here now. I start to crawl forwards, groping at the ground. My leg is pounding and my arm hurts like hell but I have to keep going. Then I hear shouting and something streaks across my back. _FUCK! _This is agony. This is so painful, I, god, I think I'm going to die. I feel my petty strength dwindling and I collapse forward onto my front. Shit, not now. I can get away. I can, I really can. I have to…

_You never know, you may just wake up from this horrible dream_

No, I'm not giving in to that. It means that I've lost. Fuck, this hurts. I…where is someone when I need them.

I…I don't want to die again. Not again…

I, the light's getting darker and the pain stronger. Shit.

_Again? Why would you be dying again?_

What? Why did I just think that? I…I can't think straight I just…fucckkk.

My body shudders and I taste a mixture of blood and dirt mingling around my mouth.

Then I collapse fully on the ground and start breathing in the ground. I start to choke but don't have the energy to pick myself up and let oxygen fill my lungs again. I'm going to die.

Please…I don't want to die. Not like this. Not ever.

I know these are my last breaths now, it's painful. I can feel the debris catching in my throat and the mud is clogging up my nostrils leaving a torturing air bubble clogged in the passage. I draw in one last agonising breath.

Strong arms pick me up then and my head falls back and I black out.

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**A/N: **Did you expect Lucius? Is he malfoyish enough? Please tell me your views thanks :)


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